Chapter 42: Butler Klee

Chapter Forty-Two
Butler Klee

A task to commission…

I am afraid you have come to the wrong place…

The sign of this security company is really only a sign…

Hearing the visitor’s words, Klein immediately filled with so many comments that he had nowhere to vent them. He hated only that this world had no forums or bullet screens for him to share them with.

However, he quickly remembered that he had once asked something similar, and the Captain’s answer had been: if they had spare time, why not accept? The money earned could become the team’s small treasury and extra benefits for the participants.

Rozanne’s eyes shifted as she thought for a moment.

“Our security personnel are all out on tasks. The earliest any of them can return will still be at least an hour from now. If your matter is not urgent, you may consider waiting.”

Among the six official Nighthawk members, Captain Dunn Smith had been invited to the cathedral by the bishop to discuss something unknown, while Leonard Mitchell was currently watching over Chanis Gate in his place.

“Corpse Collector” Frye and “Sleepless” Royale Reideen had gone to the Golden Indus District, assisting the police department with the investigation of a theft case involving cult elements. Another Sleepless, Kenley White, was off duty on rotation. And the remaining Midnight Poet, Seeka Teon, had gone to the Raphael Cemetery outside the North Borough for a routine patrol.

As for the two Beyonders left, Old Neil’s body had weakened with age, and it had been a very long time since he had gone on a mission. Klein, meanwhile, was still a beginner. In every aspect, he was half-baked in the truest sense.

“They are all absent…”

The tall, thin man with graying temples and an umbrella in hand darkened in expression. He removed his hat, bowed, and said, “Pardon the disturbance. Farewell.”

He turned, walked toward the door, and left Number 36 Zouteland Street amid the pattering rain and howling wind.

“What terrible timing,” Rozanne said with regret, watching the gentleman leave.

Though the commission fee would not have included her share, there would surely have been at least a grand meal to enjoy.

“No helping it. Chanis Gate must be guarded at all times.”

Klein put down his knife, fork, and spoon in satisfaction. Even the thick soup of turnips and vegetables, which he did not particularly like, had been drained clean.

“Or did you want Bright to go out on a task? Or yourself?”

Rozanne’s eyes turned. She smiled mischievously.

“Bright cannot, but you can, our Mr. Seer—”

Before she finished, she suddenly realized what she had said and hurriedly stopped. The front door had not yet closed. If a passerby or visitor outside happened to overhear matters concerning Beyonders, that would count as leaking secrets.

“Good thing the Captain is not here…”

Rozanne glanced toward the door and secretly stuck out her tongue.

“Otherwise I would have to go repent again!”

Bright and Klein both burst into laughter. They exchanged a glance and began clearing away the tableware.

Once everything was tidied up and the storm outside still had not stopped, Klein, who had brought no umbrella, chose to remain at Blackthorn Security Company.

He took a newspaper, sat down on the soft, springy sofa, and leisurely began his “lunch break.”

“The airship route from Backlund to Desi Bay has opened…”

“The Great Detective Manson has been compiled into book form and will soon be published…”

“An advertisement for Lauglas Weapon Shop? One standard revolver with six bullets: three pounds ten soli. A double-barreled shotgun: two pounds…”

…

As Klein browsed through the Tingen Honest Man, he suddenly discovered a news item:

“…The criminals who murdered Mr. Welch and Miss Naya have all been apprehended. It is believed that the panic spreading through the North Borough, the Golden Indus District, and the East Borough will be greatly eased… Mr. McGovern, Mr. Welch’s father and a banker, has escorted the body of his younger son back to Conston City, where a solemn funeral will soon be held…”

After reading it repeatedly, Klein abruptly sighed.

It seems Welch’s father has already accepted the police department’s explanation and did not hire a private detective for a separate investigation…

The sorrow of losing his younger son surely cannot compare to the pain my father and mother must have felt losing their only son…

His mood suddenly sank. Klein sat there unmoving for a long while.

As for Welch and Naya’s funerals not inviting him, he found it neither surprising nor depressing.

After everything calms down, I will find a chance to offer each of them a bouquet at their graves…

Klein was just about to go to the rest room for a short nap when the reception hall door was suddenly knocked again.

“Please come in.”

Rozanne, whose head had been bobbing with drowsiness, instantly woke.

The half-closed door was pushed open. The tall, thin man in formal clothes, with graying temples, walked in once more.

“May I wait here for a while? Your mercenaries—no, your security personnel—should be returning soon, yes?” he asked sincerely, trying hard to hide his anxiety.

“You may. Please sit there for a while,” Rozanne said, pointing toward the nearby sofa.

Klein, however, asked with considerable curiosity, “Where did you hear of our security company? Who recommended us to you?”

For him to travel back and forth twice in a torrential noon downpour, and still be willing to wait?

Mm. It must be that members of the Nighthawk team have easily solved many tasks others found difficult, accumulating a strong reputation in the field…

The tall, thin man leaned his umbrella outside the door and walked toward the sofa. With a bitter smile, he answered, “I visited every mercenary—er, security company and private detective agency on the nearby streets. Only your place still held some hope. The others had no spare hands at all to accept any additional tasks… Frankly speaking, if I had not run into a waiter delivering meals, I would never have imagined there was a security company here.”

…Completely different from what I imagined…

Klein froze for a moment.

Rozanne cut in and asked, “They are all busy? That many jobs?”

The tall, thin man with graying temples sat down and sighed.

“You are a mercenary squad—no, a security company. You must have heard of the burglary and murder in the Howes Street area, yes?”

The Howes Street area… burglary and murder… Well, unfortunately, I am one of the people involved…

Somewhat heavy-hearted, Klein nodded.

“Yes.”

“Because of the criminals’ viciousness and cruelty, wealthy men in nearby districts—even in all of Tingen—have been frightened. Besides increasing their own guards, they have also hired many additional security personnel and private detectives. This has created a clear shortage in the profession,” the tall, thin man explained with clear logic.

A standard chain reaction…

Klein and Rozanne exchanged a glance. Both saw self-mockery on the other’s face.

The security industry had entered a “golden age,” yet Blackthorn had not felt even the slightest effect. That alone showed how much of a failure this company was as a business.

Of course, from another perspective, it also proved the success of the Nighthawks’ concealment.

After waiting more than twenty minutes, seeing that the storm was about to stop, Klein prepared to tidy up and leave, planning to practice with the revolver at the shooting club.

Just then, black-haired, green-eyed Leonard Mitchell came out through the partition. He looked in puzzlement toward the sofa.

“This gentleman is?”

“A client. Is the Captain back?” Rozanne asked in delight.

“Back?”

The tall, thin man was dumbfounded. He had been sitting here the whole time, watching the doorway. How had he not noticed anyone return?

Rozanne’s expression stiffened at once. She hurriedly laughed.

“As a security company, we certainly do not have only a front entrance.”

“I see.”

The tall, thin man nodded in sudden understanding.

As for the title of Captain, he did not find it strange. Security companies were former mercenary squads or small mercenary guilds in another form, so it was quite normal for a “captain” to exist.

Leonard’s white shirt was not tucked in, and his black waistcoat hung loosely over him. He glanced at the tall, thin man, then suddenly snapped his fingers.

“I am one of Blackthorn’s security personnel. How should I address you? What matter would you like to commission?”

Perhaps he had long heard that mercenaries were unruly and unrestrained, for the tall, thin man did not feel insulted. Instead, he breathed out in relief.

Watching Leonard sit down, he organized his words.

“My name is Klee. I am the butler of Mr. Vickroy, a tobacco merchant. His only son, young Elliott, was kidnapped this morning. We have already called the police and received sufficient attention, but Mr. Vickroy remains worried. He hopes to investigate through your mercenary—er, security personnel—channels, as well as your understanding of Tingen, from another direction, to ensure young Elliott is rescued safely.

“If you can find the kidnappers’ hideout, Mr. Vickroy is willing to pay a reward of one hundred pounds. If you have a way to successfully rescue Young Master Elliott, he is willing to double the reward and pay two hundred pounds all at once.”

Leonard Mitchell smiled leisurely.

“It appears Mr. Vickroy only hopes for us to find the kidnappers’ hideout. Otherwise, he would not think his only son worth merely one hundred pounds. A tobacco merchant with close ties to southern plantations could not possess only two hundred pounds.”

“No. Mr. Vickroy is merely an ordinary businessman, not a tycoon. Furthermore, when it comes to the rescue itself, he believes the police department is more professional,” old Butler Klee answered frankly.

“Very well. No problem.”

Leonard snapped his fingers again.

His green eyes turned toward Rozanne.

“Beautiful lady, may I trouble you to draft a contract?”

“Do not always act as though you are a poet. In truth, you only recite other people’s works,” Rozanne said, already used to mocking Leonard back and forth. For a moment, she forgot there was still a client present.

Of course, Blackthorn Security Company did not particularly care about clients. It was good to have them, but not having them was no great matter either.

Rozanne left the reception desk and entered the civilian staff office. The clacking of the typewriter immediately rang out.

Watching this, the corner of Klein’s mouth twitched. He felt the company was simply too unprofessional.

They did not even have standard, ready-made contracts!

“This is truly a sad thing…”

“And what is even sadder is that I am actually working in such an unprofessional company…”

As thoughts tumbled through his mind, Rozanne finished drafting a contract so brief it contained only a few clauses. Butler Klee and Leonard Mitchell each signed their names.

Once Klee had applied his seal, Rozanne took the contract into the accounting office and asked Mrs. Orianna to stamp it with the seal of “Blackthorn Security Company.” That seal was almost useless, and Dunn generally left it with Orianna for safekeeping. On Sundays, it was handed to Rozanne and the others.

“I will await your good news.”

Accepting one copy of the contract, Butler Klee rose, removed his hat, and bowed.

Leonard gave no response. As if pondering something, he remained silent for more than ten seconds.

Then he suddenly turned his head, looked at Klein, and revealed a smile.

“I need your assistance.”

“Ah?”

Klein was stunned.

“I mean, this task will be completed by you and me together,” Leonard explained with the corners of his mouth lifted. “I am skilled in fighting, shooting, climbing, sensing, singing, and offering some support, but that does not include finding people. You would not want Old Neil going out in this weather, would you?”

When he spoke the word sensing, his voice blurred suddenly, impossible to hear clearly.

“All right,” Klein said.

He had a desire to try out his new “skills,” as well as a little wariness toward Leonard Mitchell.

Whew. I hope this can be completed smoothly… I wonder how much use my Seer abilities can be…

He thought with a faint trace of anticipation.